And Refuse Thy Name
by Brenda Shaffer-Shiring
Summary: Hoping to win him back to her side, Admiral Janeway makes Chakotay a job offer he can't refuse. Or can he? Won first place in 2005 'Die JC Die' contest.


TITLE: And Refuse Thy Name  
AUTHOR: Brenda Shaffer-Shiring  
PART: 1/1  
CODES: J, C  
RATING: PG for mild language  
DISCLAIMERS: Paramount owns the characters, the situations, and any other aspects of Star Trek: Voyager with real cash value. And if money is what you love, that is what you'll receive...  
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: To my fearless and hard-working betas, Diane Bellomo, John Morales, and C.J. Grant, for quick, clear, and thorough feedback.  
SUMMARY: Hoping to win him back to her side, Admiral Janeway makes Chakotay a job offer he can't refuse. Or can he? An entry for the 2005 "Die J/C Die" contest. (And fair warning: this story is probably not for Janeway fans.)

* * *

Admiral Kathryn Janeway dusted an imaginary fleck of dust off the polished black surface of her desk, and patted her hair into a presumed smoothness. Today, everything needed to look just right. 

While this was a very nice office -- and certainly far more spacious than its counterpart on Voyager had been -- she couldn't help thinking it was a bit of a pity that it bore so little resemblance to the room she'd gotten so used to over seven years in the Delta Quadrant. The shape and angles were far more open, the colors cooler and more stylish, the furniture of far better quality. While each of these aspects had its own appeal, together they had the effect of making the place less cozy than she'd been used to. The bits of memorabilia she'd used to decorate her captain's office were too few and too sparse to enliven this great vault.

Well, never mind that. She would make the place her own, given time. And until that time, the perquisites of being an admiral would go more than a little way toward making up for lost comforts. Not the least of those perquisites: the ability to influence the fates of those she'd claimed as her own back in the Delta Quadrant; particularly the fate of a certain former officer who would be joining her here in just a few moments.

Chakotay didn't keep her waiting. Punctual as ever, he was announced at the exact time he'd been scheduled to arrive. "Send him in," Kathryn ordered, her heart beating a little faster.

Chakotay entered. Though she'd known he'd be in civilian clothes (the field commission she'd given him having been set aside until Starfleet should make its final decision), she couldn't restrain the little eye-widening of surprise. Not that he looked bad, a certain level of her psyche grudgingly admitted: the burnt-orange tunic and fitted brown pants suited his broad-shouldered build and swarthy coloring, and the surprising little tousle of curl on his forehead softened his broad features attractively. It was more the implications of his looking so -- so civilian that bothered her. In all the time he had been her officer, he'd rarely been out of uniform or looked less than perfectly proper, and it seemed somehow wrong to see him so now.

Well, as he would soon discover, she had it in her power to right that particular wrong.

She glided smoothly across the room, offering her hand. "Chakotay! How wonderful to see you."

He took her hand in a strong grip, favoring her with a quick flash of that knee-weakening smile of his. "Kathryn. Or should I say, Admiral?"

She felt the corners of her lips turn up. "I have to admit, I do like the sound of that." It was a title she felt she'd more than earned, and hearing the acknowledgement in his voice was particularly pleasant.

"Well, you certainly deserve it, Admiral," he answered, again validating her own opinion, this time with a warmth that made her heart leap in her chest.

Covering that little surge of emotion, she joked slyly, "You know, I think I agree with you." They both laughed, she with the happy thought that he obviously didn't feel her new rank had to stand between them. She let her hand linger in his for a moment, savoring the thought of the new possibilities she was about to open up for him -- for them.

"Seven agrees, too. She says she's pleased to know that, oh, let me see, how did she say it? 'The preponderance of evidence notwithstanding, Starfleet Command is not completely without the capacity for rational decisions.'" He chuckled, remembering, and Kathryn forced a smile, though the introduction of Chakotay's ex-Borg lover into this conversation would not have been her choice.

"That's kind of Seven," she said at last, "but I'm a little sorry to hear she thinks so poorly of Starfleet Command."

The corner of Chakotay's mouth twisted upward, wryly. "Remind me to tell you some of the gorier details of her debriefing. So, there a reason you invited me here, other than to let me gawk at the new office? Not that it's not great, by the way."

Suddenly he was too close, the possibilities too imminent. She made an orderly retreat to behind her desk, taking a moment to study the proposal she'd left up on her computer monitor. "I wanted to talk to you about your future."

He nodded as he settled himself in one sleek gray visitor's chair, his large frame dwarfing the compact piece of furniture. "As it happens, that's a subject of some interest to me."

And some anxiety, Kathryn deduced. She knew he'd been seeking work on Earth and the nearer planets, but hadn't heard that he'd met with much success. Former Maquis were not particularly popular here in the heart of the Federation, and anyone who viewed the newsnets would recognize Chakotay and know of his erstwhile affiliation.

He inclined his head, looking attentive. "So. What about my future?"

"How would you like to be a professor of anthropology at Starfleet Academy?" Her smile was a little smug. She knew that was a particular desire of his; he'd admitted as much long ago, on Voyager. And if she could make his dream come true, not only would it bring him into her world forever, but it would also be much more than Seven could do for him, more than the ex-Borg could ever hope to match.

He stared at her, lips parted in disbelief. Finally, he managed, "Kathryn, you're joking!"

"Not a bit," she promised. "Being an admiral does give me a few strings to pull." A great many, actually, and she'd pulled more than a few in this cause. "So, what do you think?"

He snorted, shaking his head in what still looked to be mostly disbelief. "I think it sounds wonderful, Kathryn. More than I ever hoped for."

"I thought you might be interested," she said archly.

"Of course I'm interested. How did you ever talk those stiff-necked bastards at the Academy into this?"

"It wasn't so hard," she assured him. "With your education and experience - especially the unique experience you picked up in the Delta Quadrant--" /and which I made damned sure they knew about in shattering detail/ "--you were an excellent candidate for the job."

"And my, ah -- previous affiliations -- didn't bother them?"

"I wouldn't go that far," she admitted carefully. /Here's the potential sticking place/ she knew, but with a little luck and a little skill -- and with Chakotay's dream job as the carrot to lure him on -- Kathryn had every hope of getting what she wanted, and needed, of him. /First on this point, and then, later --/ "But I did persuade them that your Maquis ties were all in the past." Which was true enough, as far as it went: the Maquis themselves had entered history four years ago, and Chakotay had not been active in their ranks for three years before that.

He snorted, disbelieving. "Just like that?"

"Not quite, no," she said levelly. He was usually a rational man, and he had every reason to be one now; surely he would understand what she'd done and cooperate with her. "I told them you'd repudiated the Maquis years ago."

He stiffened. "You told them what?"

"I told them," she said, stressing the verb so that he would understand her meaning, "that you repudiated the Maquis. I told them that, from the time you joined me, you were completely loyal to Starfleet."

But he was apparently focused on the letter of what she'd said. "I was completely loyal to Voyager," he said, an odd emphasis on the last word. "But I never repudiated anything."

"Of course you didn't," she said, a little impatiently. "But Starfleet doesn't know that. The Academy doesn't know it. And there's no reason they have to learn."

Understanding seemed to dawn. Chakotay's eyes widened fractionally, and he tilted his head, regarding her curiously. "In other words," he said quietly, "all I have to do is go before the Admiralty, or before the Academy Board, and tell them that I chose to turn my back on the Maquis."

"Yes, that's it." He opened his mouth to speak again, but she pressed on before he could get the words out. "Would it really be such a lie, Chakotay? After all, you weren't a Maquis all those years on Voyager. You were a Starfleet officer -- and an excellent one."

"On Voyager, yes, I was a Starfleet officer." Despite the words, it was not a statement of agreement.

"What do you mean?"

Chakotay sighed. "There wasn't any point to being a Maquis on Voyager," he said, as if explaining the obvious. "We weren't at war in the Delta Quadrant."

"So you were only a Starfleet officer because there wasn't a reason to be anything else?" That couldn't be right; it didn't make sense. He'd been too good an officer for that to be true, and besides, it didn't fit with some of the things he'd said and done in their time in the Delta Quadrant. "I thought you -- you said you believed in Starfleet."

"In a lot of ways, I do believe in Starfleet, Kathryn. When there's a new world -- a new quadrant -- to explore, I can't imagine wanting to be anything but a Starfleet officer. Starfleet opens up space; it opens up the skies." There was a spark of reminiscent warmth in his eyes, and unquestionable sincerity in his voice. "I'll always be grateful for the chance you gave me to be a part of that again."

A little unnerved at the way his expression suggested nostalgia rather than desire, she sharply reminded him of the main point. "You can be a part of it again now."

He regarded her quizzically. "By claiming I renounced the Maquis?"

"If necessary, yes! Why not?"

"Because I didn't," he said softly.

For the love of God or gods, he was splitting hairs. He could hardly be some sort of Maquis loyalist; the Maquis were long since finished, and he was a pacifist to begin with! "What difference does it make?" she said harshly. "If you renounced them then, or if you renounce them now?"

His expression was sad, but resolute. "Kathryn, I don't intend to renounce them at all. Not in the past, the present, or the future."

Frustration spurred anger to the fore. "Why not? Why are you so loyal to a gang of dead terrorists?" she demanded. A part of her knew that label was at least a little unfair, as Chakotay was hardly the only ethical Maquis she had ever known, but she didn't care. She was in no mood to be fair. "Why are they so important to you? What difference does it make?"

Chakotay's lips tightened. When they finally parted, his voice was almost excruciatingly level. "The difference it makes, Kathryn, is that unlike Starfleet, those 'dead terrorists' were loyal to me when I needed them to be. When my world needed them to be. It's true I don't love everything the Maquis ever did. I don't even love everything I did when I was a Maquis. But if I renounce them now, then I renounce everyone who died trying to protect Dorvan. Everyone who died trying to save my crew or me. Everyone in my crew." He looked away, his jaw working. "My own father, Kathryn. I won't do that, " he whispered. "I can't."

When he looked back again, his voice was a little stronger. "And if you really don't think it makes any difference, ask your friends in Starfleet why it's so important to them, that I should disavow the Maquis. Or was that optional?"

"Of course not." Fleet Admiral Ross had made it excruciatingly plain that Chakotay would never be considered for any sort of Fleet employment unless he swore he'd long since forsaken any loyalty to his old rebel colleagues.

"Of course not." A glint of something that wanted to be humor quirked his lips. "That ought to tell you what difference it makes to Starfleet -- which is one other reason I can't do it. I won't give them moral absolution for the way they turned their backs on the DMZ." He drew a deep breath. "Kathryn, believe it or not, I'm sorry," he said, almost gently. "I know you must have gone to a lot of trouble to get the Academy to consider me for a professorship, and you'll never know how much I wish I could accept it."

"Then accept it," she said strongly, as if the order and the insistence alone could override his baffling and unexpected arguments.

"I can't, Kathryn." How strange it was, that an expression that looked so gentle should so utterly lack give. "Not at that price."

"Chakotay, for God's sake-" /Don't do this./ She didn't know whether or not to hope that he could read the desperation in her eyes. /Don't walk away from me./

"Kathryn. No." He sighed once more.

"I don't understand why this is so much to ask." /For God's sake, I give you everything you want in a job -- I could give you everything you ever wanted -- and you cast it all aside on an obscure ethical point./

He looked away. "No," he said softly. "I don't suppose you do understand." After a moment, he pulled in another breath and looked back at her. "I guess Seven's right. We all need to move on with our lives. Quit leaning on Starfleet." He sketched a smile in her direction, but it seemed distant, distracted. "Well, except for those of us who happened to get a really good offer. Of course, in your case it's probably more like they're leaning on you." Bending his head, he kissed her cheek, a cool brush of lips utterly without passion.

"Thank you for trying, Kathryn. Thank you for everything. But I think I'd better make my own future now." His soft footfalls drummed their rhythm into ears and heart as he walked away, and the door swished open and closed as he left her, once and for all.

Lip quivering, Kathryn Janeway cast a restless gaze around the great, empty vault that was the office of a Starfleet admiral.

He had left her.

He had left her.

He had left her, and taken all the possibilities with him.

Avoiding the reality of the new-closed door, she turned toward her window. But her vision was blurred and she could see no skyline beyond.

END


End file.
